16.12.10

Being a high-powered mutant hatched atop some Godforsaken roof-of-the-world desert where the wind howls 60 mph every day is kinda fun (in a painful way), and because of this soothing environment, Da-da of course LOVES rain, snow, fog, wind, hail, freezing cold, and really any weather that makes you hang onto something heavy so you don't vanish into the screaming void (which describes parenthood quite well, ahem). Anyway, much to his family's dismay, Da-da is consequently impervious to cold and really any weather except HEAT (heat being Da-da kryptonite).

What Da-da loves most of all are SNOW GAMES. Snowy football games. Football games played IN THE SNOW. Is this clear, yet? Football games (and tailgate parties) played in blizzards, the freezing muck, the ice, the fog, the driving rain, the lava, the toads, pyroclastic flows, etc. Love it.

Indeed, Da-da's not so much of fan of teams (which have fallen to mere BRAND status these days), but of open-air stadiums. If Da-da had endless moolah, he would regularly be seen at outdoor stadiums like Soldier Field, Lambeau Field, Heinz Field, Potter's Field, etc. Old fashioned, raw-knuckled, missing-teeth and -limbs kinda tombstone-y stadiums, where the chill-wind hakken kraks howl so fiercely that you can't feel your -- or anyone else's -- thighs, anymore. The kinda place where you start seriously thinking that it might actually be a good thing to wear a giant fake cheese on your head.

People stop Da-da on the street all the time (esp. the police) and inquire as to why he loves watching snow games so much. Is it simply the love of nasty weather? The festive, snuggly winter triumph of tenacious life over death? No, officer, it's quite simple:

Da-da LOVES to see millionaires suffer.

Watch as they slip and slide, fall down... boom. (Da-da likes to see billionaires suffer, too, but they seem to have the smarts to stay inside, buncha pansies.) Da-da would say his heart goes out to those poor schmoes playing in the elements who make the league minimum ($325k), but that's $325k more than Da-da makes, so they can shiver and bleed and eat snow like the rest. (Truth-be-told, Da-da loves everyone. Everyone is Da-da's brother. He's just a little grumpy. Children do this to you.)

Da-da's beyond old school. He's more stone age school, a snowy schadenfreude that demands all football and baseball and hockey games be played above the arctic circle, surrounded by hungry polar bears and fans on old Russian tanks, the game played endlessly until one team succumbs to either the elements, or the toothy fauna, whichever comes first. The survivors are then frozen till next season, which saves everyone time and money on off-season shenangians.

The Longest Disclaimer in the Tri-State Area

“Triumph of A Man Called Da-da” (TOAMCDD) is a rather odd blog of puzzling force and moment, and should not be used as as parenting template, as a way of raising wild animals, as an inexpensive morning toast spread, or as a Personal Disposeable Occam's Razor, though it might make an excellent doorstop if you printed all the posts out in a big pile and left them near... you know... a door.

In case of emergency, please dial 9-1-1 and consult a Registered Hoobah Poobah for specific shock absorber gentrification. The above posts are based on Da-da's individual fact-findings, hunches, direct knowledge and experiences -- which are so VAST, yet so limited. Void where prohibited, if not wholly inadviseable. Many products Da-da reviews... oh, wait. Da-da doesn't review products. Unless they're really good. And Da-da uses them. Thus is Da-da's integrity unmatched in the blogosphere, if not the media maquiladora tri-state area, which Da-da guards like a little girl with a pink unicorn chainsaw puffin.

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